


Think About It

by CatsoftheApocalypse



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Casual mentions of violence, F/M, Mentions of Character Death, casual mentions of murder, this assumes you've seen TFA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6838117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsoftheApocalypse/pseuds/CatsoftheApocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of TFA, Kylo Ren is brought back into his quarters, and it is up to you to make him comfortable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Think About It

**Author's Note:**

> This first came into my head after I watched TFA for the first time. I meant to turn it into a full fic, or even a series, but the muses didn't play nice yet. Who knows, maybe one day?
> 
> Assume you were captured by the First Order and given to Kylo Ren as a servant. PG-13 only (so far). In the beginning, you were terrified of what he could do to you, and some part of you still is, but you could never help your defiant nature.
> 
> Let me know what you think and if you want there to be more.

They brought him back into his own quarters sooner than they probably should have, considering his injuries. I assumed part of the reason was the nurses refusing to endanger themselves any longer by dealing with him and his tantrums. Apparently, I was more expendable than proper medical staff, so I was left to deal with them instead.  
  
I had just changed the bandage for the blaster wound to his side and lifted his left arm from its perch on my shoulder, then easing him down to rest against the pllows.  
He glared at me, eyes narrowed, when I reached for his face after grabbing the small jar one of the nurses had left with me.  
"What do you think you're doing now?" he growled.  
"The wound on your face is going to leave a mark. This ointment can help with that, but if you want the scar to be worse than it needs to be, suit yourself."  
He contemplated my words for a few moments before giving a slight nod. A low hiss escaped his lips when the ointment first made contact with his marred flesh.  
"You've killed." I said quietly.  
"What would you know about it?" he returned in a monotone.  
"I may know nothing of the Force, but I know people. I've seen you after you killed before, but this time is... different."  
"How do you figure?"  
"You're restless."  
He chose not to reply to that.  
"Who was it?"  
"Han Solo." he said, and a heartbeat later "My father."  
My hand stayed in it's task and I swallowed thickly. Calling this cold would have been putting it mildly. Especially for someone whose blood ran as hot as his did.  
"Why?" I asked, trying desperately to keep my voice even.  
He usually had a reason, be it ever so flimsy.  
"He was in my way." was his quick reply.  
Maybe it was the pain that made him continue, or the medication, I could not be sure, but he soon spoke again.  
"I was certain his death would extinguish the Light that is calling me."  
"And did it not?"  
His expression was answer enough. I wiped my hands on my skirt and got to my feet.  
"They said you would be tired soon. A side effect of some medication they gave you earlier. I will be where I always am."  
"You have something to say." Ren pointed out before I had left the room.  
At his words, I halted my steps, almost at the door. I turned back to look at him, nodding. His eyes narrowed, just a little, before he spoke once more.  
"What is it?"  
"It is not my place to say."  
"That never stopped you before."  
"Why don't you just search my mind?"  
"You do not like it when I do."  
Naturally. Nobody liked their thoughts to be invaded like that. But, of course, I knew that all too well.  
"That never stopped you before."  
Just enough time for two deep breaths passed, his eyes narrowing again, his fingers twitching, aching to grab his lightsaber and lash out. To punish my insolence. But he didn't. He never did, and the question why burned in my mind.  
"Do you require anything else before I leave you to rest?" I asked, turning to leave when he shook his head in silence.  
Having reached the door, my arm already stretched towards the control panel to open it, I looked back over my shoulder and told him what was on my mind.  
"Has it ever occurred to you that you're being called towards the Light because that is where you need to be?"  
Heartbeat after heartbeat went by without a response, and after a while, I took his silence as permission to leave.


	2. Try Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what I was thinking...

On the tiny table beside my bed, the only two pieces of furniture I had been granted, was a communicator with a constantly open one-way line. I had been given it when I myself was given to Kylo Ren as his personal attendant, designated to serve his every whim.  
From said device originated the sound that woke me up. A roaring scream of pain, the kind that will haunt your dreams. I was on my feet in the blink of an eye, Pulling on a simple robe over my night clothes as I already went out the door.  
Only a few steps separated my room from Kylo Ren's quarters, and when I opened his door, I found him exactly where I had left him. The anesthetic he'd been given in the med bay must have worn off, and without the adrenaline of a fight flooding his body, this was probably the first time he actually felt the pain his injuries caused.  
The blaster wound was deep, going through more than just skin and muscle. It had torn him up, and now, jerked from his sleep by uninhibited pain, I heard him scream in something other than rage for the first time as he tossed about on his bedstead.  
The doors had shut after me, and I hurried to his side.  
"You must keep still, or you'll make it worse." I cautioned while also fumbling for the syringe and the vial of pain medication the medical staff had left.  
His eyes were closed, and he did not appear to be aware of what was happening and showed no reaction whatsoever to my warning. As he was still thrashing from side to side, it would have been dangerous, if not impossible to give him the injection. I had to distract him from the pain with something, anything. A few seconds would be long enough. Something. Anything.  
I could hardly slap him. Even with all the liberties I had already taken, I was certain that would not be one he would overlook.  
Considering everything I knew he was and had done, it might be surprising that his agony bothered me, but I wanted it to end as quickly as possible, so as soon as the first halfway acceptable idea presented itself, I went for it. Kneeling on the edge of the mattress, I grabbed his shoulders and bent to press my lips to his. He made no move, neither to return the kiss nor to push me away, but just froze. While his shock lasted, I hurried to find a vein in his arm and gave him the injection.  
The medication took effect quickly, and I watched as his tense body relaxed into the sheets. His eyes fluttered open shortly thereafter, narrowing again right away when he saw me hovering above him with a syringe in my hand.  
"You were in pain." I began to explain my presence. "I gave you something to ease that pain, but now I'll have to ask you to sit up. I'm afraid you tore your wound open again. You're bleeding."  
"I see no blood." he growled.  
"That's because you surround yourself with as much black as you possibly can. Red blood doesn't show well on black sheets. As much as I hate to admit it, I'd rather you not die under my care, so I'd appreciate it if you would let me see to your wound."  
"Do what you must." he gave me his grudging permission.  
I flipped back the sheets covering him, his upper body now only covered by the bandages. I hadn't seen any blood myself, but I could feel it wet under my knees in the fabric as I knelt by his side. Now, I reached a hand out to him, so he could pull himself into a sitting position. Having been with him long enough, I knew he would not accept any more assistance from me than was absolutely necessary.  
"May I?" I asked, and sat down facing him after a short grunt of acquiescence, pulling the side table covered with any possibly needed supplies closer.  
As I began to carefully unwrap the gauze from his torso, I felt his eyes on me, ever watchful.  
"You've rested well?" he asked.  
"Well enough." I replied after the surprise that he would care to ask wore off. "Could you rest your arm on my shoulder like before? It will be easier to reach around you then."  
He did as I suggested, and I continued my task in silence.  
A few stitches had indeed been pulled as he tossed and turned in pain, so I prepared to take care of that and reapply a fresh bandage. I also took a closer look at the cut on his face, but there seemed to be no new damage there. In the process, my eyes drifted to his lips, and I had to shake myself out of a stupor to stop staring.  
I was glad he did not seem to be aware of what had transpired, and determined not to bring it up.  
"Do you want me to change the sheets?"  
"No."  
"Very well. I should leave. Let you get back to rest."  
"You think I don't know what you did?"


	3. What It Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long. One of my resolutions for this year is to post more regularly, which means that this will also see more frequent updates.

I stared at him blankly, before schooling my face into a mask of neutrality.  
"What do you mean?"  
He glared at this, saying nothing.  
"All right, here it is." I began. I knew he would not let this go, his expression told me that much. "I needed a way to make you stop thrashing. You were in pain, and I didn't have anything else. I grasped for the first idea that presented itself. Overstepping my bounds was not my intention. Not this time."  
There was a strange twinkle in his eyes when he replied.  
"Do you regret it?"  
"The truth?"  
"I was under the impression that was the only thing I ever got from you out of your own free will."  
A small chuckle, something I hadn't done since being captured, escaped me.  
"No." I admitted. "I do not regret it."  
"Does that not bother you?"  
"Do you want it to bother me?" I asked, curious. "Do you want me to hate you?"  
"Are you saying you do not hate me?"  
I thought about this question for a moment, my hands still busy tending to the new damage to his wound. Keeping my eyes on my task, I finally replied.  
"No, I don't." I admitted. "I hate the First Order. But I do not hate you."  
"You're not making any sense." he scoffed.  
"I hear that a lot. But what exactly is it you are referring to right now?"  
"I'm part of the First Order. You hate the First Order, yet you claim not to hate me. That makes no sense."  
"Well..." I sighed, reaching for needle and thread to replace the pulled stitches after cleaning the wound thoroughly. "While you may be part of the First Order, that does not inevitably mean that the First Order is a part of you."  
"You don't know what you're talking about."  
"Perhaps not. What do I know. I'm just a kidnapped servant, right?"  
He made no reply, and I kept my silence as well, irritated by his attitude. When I was done with the suture and made to replace the bandage, he spoke again.  
"Forgive me."  
That was unexpected. And certainly unprecedented. As such, I did not know how to react, and consequently said nothing until I was done and had wiped my hand clean.  
"That should be enough for now. Do you require anything else?" I asked, looking up at his eyes, which were trained on my face, and appeared to have been this whole time.  
"Will you leave if I say I do not?"  
"Not if you wish me to stay. I am at your service, as you know."  
"And if you were not? If I told you you could leave... Right now... Would you do it?"  
It was an intriguing thought. And I was still astonished at what had essentially been an apology. On the other hand, I had nowhere to go. Nobody to turn to.  
"I do not think so." I said quietly. "What about you?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"May I speak freely?"  
"I thought you always did."  
"Very well. My people, we are... or were... story-tellers. Record-keepers. It has not even been 40 years since the fall of the Empire, yet much of what led to its decay has already been forgotten. People think Luke Skywalker is nothing but a myth." he tensed at my mention of the war hero Skywalker, the last Jedi, but when I gave a questioning sound he motioned for me to continue. "But not us. We know. It is as fresh in our minds as a rippling brook on Endor. The Fall of the Empire. The Fall of Darth Vader. All of it. I know who you are. I know you are of Skywalker blood. And I know you admire your grandfather. That you want to carry on his legacy, and finish what he started. But I think you're forgetting something very important. Something that has never been widely known, because it was between only two people, until one of them told one of us. Your uncle, Luke, and your grandfather."  
There was an uncharacteristic tremor in his voice when he spoke.  
"And what is that?"


End file.
